


send our lost promises to the stars

by kurousagi



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Soul-Searching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 21:02:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15871686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurousagi/pseuds/kurousagi
Summary: It dawns on her as the cloud of sleep washes away from her mind, that Primrose is nowhere to be found.





	send our lost promises to the stars

**Author's Note:**

> hello, just a passing fan with way too much time on her hands. enjoy.  
> i also claim to not know shakespearean, forgive h'aanit's dialogue.

Tressa stirs at the sound of a light snore. It’s faint and almost inaudible, but she’d been having a restless sleep such that even the sound of the birds dropping berries would have woken up her up. Sleepy eyes open along with a yawn to accompany it as the merchant stretches against the hard log she’d claimed as her pillow for the night’s camp.

She takes note of her companions, of Olberic who is sleeping sitting up, sword resting on his shoulder and gripped at the hilt should they be attacked. Alfyn is more relaxed, curled up in his sleeping bag and snoring the night away- the source of her unrest. Linde and H’aanit are comfy a ways against the tree trunk. She is taking watch, and acknowledges her shifting with a silent nod. Ophelia and Cyrus have taken the tent this turn around but judging from the still flap, they were also gone for the night. God forbid she knew where Therion wandered off to, but he always showed up in the morning so she could only assume he was nearby, just out of sight.

It dawns on her as the cloud of sleep washes away from her mind, that Primrose is nowhere to be found.

The dancer and her had grown close in their personal quests, closer than the others. She was reserved and quiet, never speaking much of herself, but eventually late night talks under the glittering stars had opened up the regal figure in Tressa’s life to more intimate secrets. They were fast friends, despite their clashing personalities, and she was glad for it in her quest to explore the unknown.

The knowledge that her ever present companion was, in fact, not present, alarmed her as she brushed away messy bangs from her face and stray hair sticking to her cheek from the drool she’d let slip in her sleep. She was careful to be quiet, to not disturb the rest of the party, before approaching H’aanit who was stroking her animal companion in tune with the crackling of the fire. 

“If 't be true thou art looking for Primrose, the lady hath said the lady wanted to beest alone.” Tressa was all but accustomed to the hunter’s way of speech, especially if she knew exactly what she was looking for and nodded accepting the circumstance. There was a pause of silence before more words were spoken however. "But, in that lady sadness, I doth believeth that despite wanting to beest alone the lady is in needeth of a companion of thy caliber.” And with a motion of her hand, she pointed to the direction the dancer had all but wandered off to. With a silent thank you the young girl made haste, wondering what had gotten the woman in a somber mood.

The forest at night was eerie and beautiful. The moon illuminated the leaves and grass like silver silk, the fireflies acted as fading lanterns on her path. While the shadows gave birth to monsters in the dark, Tressa was not afraid in the slightest because she’d bested beasts far worse than the imaginations of a child. A simple trick of the mind could no longer sway her.

Deeper in, she spots a clearing in the huddled trees and she takes a gamble. Stepping through she notices a field of Moondrops, flowers that bloom only in the night. A rare and beautiful sight nonetheless, as they sway in the gentle breeze as if dancing for their namesake up in the sky. In the middle sits a lone and familiar woman, brown tresses cascading down a halo of hair. Tressa grins as she hastily makes her way to her. 

Primrose does not react to the crunching of foliage underneath Tressa’s boots, absorbed in her task. She does, however, shoot a glance once the younger girl plops down beside her, curiosity plainly written on her childlike face. She smiles faintly, stopping to show her, her handiwork.

“A flower crown!” The merchant exclaims excitedly at the half finished circlet. The leaves are woven expertly from the Moondrops, tight but elegant. “I had no idea you could make these.” 

“My father taught me.” Her tone is laced with melancholic fondness. Everything about her father held that tinge of sadness, but she did not want to forget. His memories were just as important as the memories she’d made on this personal quest. “He said mother made them all the time when they were young.” She recalls the first batch she’d attempted in their garden- the groundskeeper was furious she’d messed up the roses, but the joy and smile she’d received was worth the trouble.

“You should teach me.” Tressa suggests eagerly, picking up a few flowers of her own as she eyes Primrose’s handiwork critically, trying to imitate the knots between each stem. It does not come out as nicely but the dancer laughs anyway as she finishes her own crown. 

“I could.” She agrees, turning her piece to check for imperfections before gently placing it on the merchant’s head. It was rare to see her without her hat, but if she had to admit, she liked this accessory better. 

“Then it’s a deal.” Tressa brims with happiness, all smiles and flushed cheeks before her eyes furrow in frustration at her inability to form a proper knot. Primrose takes the all but tattered flowers, trying to salvage the mess her companion had created with little success. The pout she receives in turn brings another chuckle out of her. 

She wonders if this simple joy will continue long after she’d completed her revenge. While this quiet peace was welcome, she will never forget her goal, stewing for years in that horrible hell hole she called a prison. There isn’t a guarantee she will live past what she’d accomplished, knowing that these men are connected to even more sinister powers, but she had to try. 

She laments at the innocence before her, the reasonable part of her mind telling her that any promises she makes now, have an expiration date. They will not be kept. Still, she cannot help but make them anyway, because Tressa’s smile is like the sun and how she longs for a warmer world, a world where she can rejoice plainly and have no ulterior motives than to live in the moment. Explore the unknown, just like the girl before her.

For now, she will make do, taking her companion’s hands and guiding her through the weaving, the same way her father did once upon a time ago.


End file.
